


Home is where you are

by UnchartedHeart



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Camping, Canon Gay Relationship, Complete, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gay, Gay Bashing, Gay Rights, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Hugs, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, LGBTQ Themes, Love, M/M, Male Friendship, No Smut, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Photography, Sailing, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Tenderness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 15:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20342266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnchartedHeart/pseuds/UnchartedHeart
Summary: Arthur is reunited with an old friend.A story about home, love and life.





	Home is where you are

**Author's Note:**

> Life is a bit of a mess at the moment.  
That’s sort of where this story came from.  
Thinking about Arthur, and making him happy with Albert, is helping a lot.
> 
> A few disclaimers:  
I’m only on Chapter 4 of the game and so that is where and when the story is set.  
Most of this was written at 2am when I couldn’t sleep. Please forgive any minor inaccuracies or errors. I’m going to sleep no—  
I write on an app and copy & paste my words across. Some formatting errors may ensue.  
I have no idea how photography worked in the 1900s. I tried.  
I own nothing but my words.  
I have no idea what iguanas really look like. Are they dragons? I feel like they’re dragons. 
> 
> A desperate plea:  
Can anyone think of a cute name for the Arthur / Albert fandom?

Home is where you are

————————

The rain hammered down against Arthur’s tent.

It was a grey and rainy day in Clemens point.

Raindrops the size of walnuts fell from the heavens.

Pearson and Sadie were hollering on the small pontoon. The downpour must have stirred up the local population of smallmouth, because the surface of the water was foaming with life.

A perfect day for fishing. If you felt so inclined.

Arthur did not.

Today, all he wanted from the world was to lie on his camp bed underneath his lean-to, hat low on his head, cigarette glowing amber in the gloomy afternoon.

He had done some sketching earlier, until a rogue raindrop threatened to deface his likeness of a roaming buffalo.

Arthur didn’t have many possessions, but his journal was privately more precious to him than the contents of the camp lock box. Only the portrait of his mother was more sacred.

This was a rare day.

A proper storm that cut through the usual draining humidity of Lemoyne.

His mind clear, Arthur let it wander.

He thought about taking little Jack fishing again. Trying to get the little critter interested. Maybe give him the father figure he’d never had.

He thought about the blood of Valentine. The guilt that lay heavy on his mind for laying waste to the rural town and its denizens.

He thought about that strange man, Mr Mason. Almost tumbling to his death for a photograph, the goddamn fool.

He thought about Nyx, his jet black stallion with the purple mane, dyed in the dead of night by Charles in his attempt at a practical joke. Something Arthur had laughed himself to tears about and resolved never to dye back.

He thought about Mary, getting on that train...

Arthur felt a pit open in his stomach and tried hard to stop thinking about Mary.

Somewhere nearby, Dutch and Molly were arguing. Which was not news, exactly, but was irritating nevertheless. She felt that Dutch wasn’t paying enough attention to her lately. And for all Dutch’s flowery protestations, she was right.

Maybe love wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, after all?

His momma had told him once; find the lady with the kindest eyes and be good to her, ask her for her hand.

Like it was that simple.

If only.

Maybe it was better to be alone.

Over the sound of the deluge, Swanson started singing a heartfelt sonnet to his broken knob again. 

Arthur sighed.

All of them were broken, he supposed, in their own ways.

“Hey, Arthur?”

A voice soft as velvet woke him from his reverie. He peeked out from under his hat at Tilly, who was standing just outside his tent, huddling under her coat for shelter.

“Hey, Tilly,” Arthur replied, moving over to make room. “Get on in here before you catch a cold.”

Tilly smiled shyly and slipped inside, dripping politely over Arthur’s bear pelt rug.

“I was just wonderin’, if you maybe wanted to play dominoes with me again?” Tilly asked, looking at Arthur with wide, lonely eyes.

Arthur blinked away his sleepiness and sat upright, smoothing his beard and shirt.

“Why, sure, Miss Jackson. That’d be a fine way to spend the afternoon.”

Tilly giggled with delight.

“Thanks, Arthur! I’ve got it all set up already in the green tent by the horses.” She blinked water from her eyelashes and bit her bottom lip.

“It’d mean a lot. Mary-Beth and me had a bit of a disagreement, so I know it’s a bit borin’ for you, but...”

“It’d be my pleasure, Miss Jackson,” Arthur replied. “I’ll bring the cigarettes.”

Tilly dipped her head bashfully and darted back out into the downpour.

Arthur stretched.

He enjoyed this part of his life.

His little family.

The quieter side of things.

Misty mornings spent fishing with Hosea and Dutch.

Karen humming a tune above a tipsy fire.

Lenny quipping him on his way back to camp.

The smell of hay, horses, smoke, soap, stew.

Arthur stepped out of his tent into the pouring rain and breathed the heady smell of home deep into his heart.

————————

“Damnit!” Arthur growled, slapping a palm against the table. Tilly’s triumphant grin only grew wider.

“Remember, Arthur, it’s like I told you,” she said, looking decidedly like the cat with all the cream. “Put your heavier tiles down first. And the rest is down to luck.”

“Well, Miss Jackson, if that’s the case, clearly I’m plum out of that.” Arthur scrubbed his face and handed over a shiny fifty cents piece to the younger lady.

“Another round, Arthur?” Tilly asked. Her eyes gleamed with victory as she shuffled the piles again with a practiced hand.

“Hehe. No thank you, little lady. I’d be safer putting my money in the hay and waiting for one of the horses to eat it.”

Tilly’s laugh was interrupted by a shrill cry from the far side of camp. Some birds flew low overhead, away from the disturbance, their caws adding to the cacophony.

Tilly’s expression instantly changed from mirth to gut-twisting fear.

“Wh- what was that, Arthur?” She asked, pulling away from the table. Muscles twitching, ready to fight or run.

“I dunno...” Arthur began. “But I’m gonna find out. Tilly, you go find Hosea and stay with him ‘til I get back.”

“It’s not... it’s not them Lemoyne raiders, is it?” Tilly stammered. “I’ve heard what... they do to coloured folk...”

Arthur looked Tilly right in the eyes. He kept his voice deadly low and even.

“Miss Jackson. If it is, they won’t live long enough to touch a single hair on your head. I promise you that. Not as long as I’m breathing. Now, get someplace safe, you hear?”

Tilly rushed to Arthur and gave him a tight squeeze of thanks, then dashed off on the silent feet of a young woman who had been running her whole life.

Arthur did not understand, would never understand, the persecution of coloured people.

All he did know is that he would gladly defend any one of his family, black or white, to his last breath.

Except maybe Micah.

Some thunder boomed, far away to the West.

Arthur Morgan took a moment to load his pistol.

He rolled his shoulders to loosen the bunched muscles.

Deep breath in, slow breath out.

Ready.

————————

Arthur ran in a crouch to the line of trees and shrubs near the shore, following the growing sounds of a struggle. A pair of voices drifted from the bracken, interrupting the steady percussion of raindrops on the damp ground.

“Get your hands up, you son-of-a-”

“Ah - please. Now. Just - just a moment, sir -“

“I said; show me your goddamn hands!”

Arthur stopped in the shadow of an oak, listening closely. Yep, that was Lenny... and someone he couldn’t quite place...

He cocked his gun.

“Please! Let me just put my camera down, kind sir!”

It couldn’t be...

“Mr Mason?” Arthur walked out of the shadows, seeing none other than Albert Mason being held at knife point; Lenny’s cold steel hovering inches from his throat.

Cold rainwater dripped from Albert’s beard. The man was drenched.

“A - Arthur?” Albert stammered. “Gods above, is that you?”

Arthur tutted.

“Sure is, Mr Mason. Lenny, you can relax. This is the photographer fella I was tellin’ you about the other night.”

“Oh, this is the man who almost got you both eaten?” Lenny jibed playfully, lowering his weapon.

Albert flushed.

“Oh, good. My reputation proceeds me. Thanks a lot, Arthur.”

“That it does. But what in the heck are you doing out here in our neck of the woods, Mr Mason?” Arthur asked.

“Other than thanking my lucky stars that you arrived to stop this kind fellow from turning me into a rug, I was - oh, pardon my manners.” He looked at Lenny and bowed slightly.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lenny. I’m Albert, Albert Mason. Amateur wildlife photographer and bringer of bad luck.”

Lenny raised an eyebrow quizzically at Arthur.

“I’m... I was looking for a rare species of iguana that lives on one of the islands not far from here. I’ve heard tales of their tails. That they can regenerate - grow back - if they were to, um, be cut off.” Albert’s gaze lingered on the knife in Lenny’s hand and he gulped.

Arthur’s face broke into a smile.

“Aw, Lenny’s a gentle soul, Mr Mason. You’ve nothing to be afeared of.”

“Any friend of Arthur’s is a friend of mine,” Lenny pitched in, tipping his hat and putting away the knife.

“Indeed. Well, gentlemen, as stimulating as this has been, as good as it is to meet an old friend and make a new one... I have a reptile to find.”

Albert patted his sodden pants and withdrew a silver compass from a pocket. Turned it one way. Turned it the other. Gave the face a little tap. He hummed and pulled a bemused face.

“I don’t suppose you fellows know which way is East, do you?”

Arthur chuckled. A warm feeling blossomed in his chest. He’d missed this fool.

“Mr Mason, are you perhaps lost?”

“No, no, no, Mr Morgan. Just... a little off-piste.”

“Excuse me?” Lenny said. “What are you pissed about?”

Arthur closed the gap between them and laid a gentle hand on Albert’s sodden shoulder.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“And you, Arthur.”

The two regarded each other for a long moment.

“So... you say you’re a wildlife photographer, Mr Mason?” Lenny interrupted politely. The question warped Albert back to the present moment.

“Yes, my dear fellow. At least, I am trying to be. As I’m sure you know...”

He glared at Arthur. “... my success to date has been somewhat variable.”

“How were you planning on taking a photograph in this rain? Doesn’t the water mess with the flash?”

“I - oh. Hm. That is a truly valid point, Lenny” conceded Albert, looking dismayed. 

Arthur chuckled low in his chest.

“Well, Mr Mason. If you’re not in a hurry and you’re lookin’ to escape this rain, why don’t you come back to camp with us?”

The question took Albert completely by surprise. He put a hand to his chest and blushed scarlet.

“I - I would very much like that, Arthur. That would be -“ Albert looked at his soaked luggage, wilting into the mud by the second. “That would be most genial of you.”

“Our pleasure,” Lenny and Arthur chorused.

————————

Arthur couldn’t help it.

He loved watching him.

The rain had finally eased. The brief respite in the storm had the members of the camp stirring from their tents. They’d all taken to Albert immediately.

Especially little Jack, who found the photographer absolutely the most interesting person he’d ever met in his young life.

Susan Grimshaw had Albert changed into a dry pair of jeans and a faded blue shirt before they’d even finished shaking hands. In fact, as Arthur watched Albert interact with his family, it dawned on him that he was wearing one of Arthur’s old shirts.

Arthur’s heart squeezed a little.

Strange.

The shirt was a little too large for him and Albert kept pushing the sleeves back up his arms as he chattered to Jack, showing him many different photographs of coyotes, cougars, wolves, wild horses...

The whole thing was rather endearing, Arthur had to admit. He leaned back in his chair by the fire and pulled his journal out. He found a clean page and a sharp pencil, and started drawing.

He sketched a quick portrait of Albert, in an oversized shirt, playing with the son of one of the most wanted men in the state.

Life sure was strange sometimes.

A tall shadow cast over his shoulder.

“Arthur, may I speak with you a moment, son?”

“Sure, Dutch. ‘Course.”

“Are you sure that it’s wise, bringing your friend there into camp?”

There was something cold like lead in Dutch’s tone.

Arthur scratched his beard and squinted up at his leader.

“Why, Mr Mason is probably the most honourable man I know, Dutch.”

“Exactly, Arthur.” Dutch paced a little by the fire. “And you think it’s just a coincidence that he just stumbled across us, the most wanted gang in three states, in the middle of a storm?”

“Dutch, I’m not sure I like where this is headed...”

“You don’t have to like it, Arthur. You just have to answer the question.”

Arthur shifted so his body to face Dutch directly.

“Alright. Shoot.”

“Tell me honestly, Arthur. Do you think, there’s even the smallest chance, that he might be colluding with the Pinkertons?”

Arthur stole another glance at Albert. The man was digging around in his luggage in earnest. His hand fished out a bar of candy for Jack, who clapped his hands in delight. Albert’s kind eyes sparkled like diamonds.

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Dutch sagged a little with relief. His voice softened like melting snow.

“Well, alright. If you trust him, Arthur, then... okay.”

“Dutch, I know things have been rough lately. We’ve all been through a lot. But Albert - Mr Mason - he’s... he’s got a heart of gold, Dutch.”

There was a pause and both men watched as Jack gave Albert a hug around his waist. Some birds chirped peacefully nearby.

“Well, son. If that’s how you feel... then that’s enough for me.”

There was something in Dutch’s voice. A slight hitch.

His hand came to rest on Arthur’s shoulder. A light squeeze followed.

“I love you, son. No matter what. I hope you know that.”

The older man wandered off, heading for the shoreline.

“I know, Dutch,” Arthur whispered. “I know.”

————————

Soft, evening light bathed over the campsite.

Arthur sat on the edge of the pier with his hat in his hands and watched the slow drift of some fishing boats across the calm water of Flat Iron Lake.

What a day.

“They call this the golden hour, you know.”

Albert’s soft voice interrupted Arthur’s quiet musings. He stood a little way back, a little uncertain as to whether to approach the cowboy.

“Is that right?” Arthur replied.

“Why, yes.” Albert moved a little closer, pointing at the sun. “The light is more horizontal, so it sort of scatters and makes everything appear - ah, what’s the word...”

“Mr Mason?”

“Um - yes, Arthur?”

“You can come join me here, if you like.”

Albert cleared his throat. Nodded.

“Yes, sure, I - that would be -“

Arthur slid across to make some room for the man. Albert lowered himself down, hanging his legs off the end of the pier.

A comfortable silence descended over the two.

“Oh, Arthur - you know what would be splendid?”

“What?”

Albert hoisted his legs up, discarded his shoes and socks hastily, then lowered his feet back into the icy water. He shivered a little and then let out a contented sigh.

“That better?”

“Much better, thank you. Very refreshing.”

“Glad to hear it.” Arthur couldn’t resist. “Plus, it’ll give the gators somethin’ nice to snack on.”

Albert paled and pulled his legs out of the water immediately, lost his balance and ended up flat on his back like a freshly caught fish.

Arthur creased with laughter, slapping his thigh.

“Oh, Mr Mason, I have missed you.”

“You have an unconventional way of showing it, Mr Morgan.”

“I thought you were headin’ back to New York?”

Albert dried his feet with his socks while he thought carefully about how to reply.

“I was. I did. But... New York... was the same as when I left. Bustling and empty at the same time. I got back to my little apartment in the city. It was just as I’d left it. But - I felt totally different. It was like stepping into a stranger’s home; I didn’t belong there any more. My experiences in the Heartlands had - well, changed me, I suppose.”

Arthur hummed deep in his chest.

A large bass jumped clear of the water for a moment, then vanished under the surface once more with a splash.

“I felt like one of the wild animals in my photographs. Trapped in the stifling city. I spent a few days thinking about what I wanted from life and you know what? I decided that taking portraits of fashionable ladies for the local newspaper simply wasn’t enough for me.”

“Sounds very reasonable, Mr Mason.”

“Indeed. And - I - I thought about you, Arthur.”

Arthur became very conscious of his breathing.

“That so?”

Albert knitted his hands together and crossed his legs.

“Um, yes.”

“Well, Mr Mason, I’m much obliged.”

“All my life, I’ve never felt free. But you... you’re the most free person I’ve ever known, Arthur.”

Arthur stole a subtle glance at his unlikely friend. Albert’s brow was furrowed and he was blushing profusely. Arthur gave him a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

“That’s real kind of you, Mr Mason. I - I’m afraid I don’t quite know what to say to that.”

Arthur cast an eye back to camp, where Karen was singing softly into the evening air while Pearson prepared them a small supper.

“It’s a simple life, Mr Mason, and trust me when I say it’s far from plain sailing. But, all things considered, it’s a good life. It’s good enough for me.”

Albert nodded.

“I guess that’s why I came back. I just couldn’t stay. I hope - that answers your question, Arthur?”

“Sure.”

Albert twisted his moustache absent-mindedly.

“It just... didn’t feel like home any more.”

Arthur pondered what to say to that.

“Well... home is where the heart is, they say.”

Albert gave the gruff cowboy a strange look.

“Why, Arthur. I didn’t take you for a romantic?”

Arthur felt heat glow in his cheeks. He was thankful that the light was fading fast. He coughed roughly.

“Wherever these folks go, that’s home enough for me.”

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

“I have a proposal.”

“What’s that?”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but...”

“I ain’t chasing no gators again, Mr Mason,” Arthur quipped. “We was lucky enough to get away in one piece the last time.”

Albert chuckled, casting his mind back to their previous adventures.

“No, no. Oh, goodness no. I was hoping to gain your permission to photograph a much more elusive species.”

“That iguana with the ghostly tail?”

“No, Arthur - you and your family.”

Arthur spun around in surprise.

“What you say, Mr Mason?”

“I - I thought it might be nice - for you all - to have your picture taken. You could keep it, get it framed perhaps, and hang it someplace you could all see it.”

Arthur’s heart quickened and he fought to keep his voice even against a sudden rush of emotion. He kept his eyes focussed on the still water.

“Why - Mr Mason - that’d be real fine.”

Albert clapped his hands in delight. He gazed out at the advancing sunset.

“Excellent! Alright, we have maybe twenty more minutes of viable sunlight, so if you could help me and gather everyone together, hmmm, perhaps over by that canoe?”

————————

It took them nineteen minutes.

“Alright everyone, to your places! We’ve got just enough light for one last shot!” Albert hollered.

Arthur had never seen anyone so incensed.

“Abigail, turn your head just slightly to the - yes! That’s it! Mr Williamson, do you want to do up another button on your shirt? No? Okay, as you wish. Molly - your fan is just slightly blocking our view of - Mr Matthews, sir, don’t forget to look directly into the lens this time! Jack, you have the most important job of all, my boy. Don’t forget to smile! Okay, alright. That looks good. Let me just...”

Albert’s head vanished behind the cloak of his machine once more.

Hosea Matthews leaned closer to Arthur and whispered in his ear while keeping his gaze resolutely on the lens.

“He’s a fine man, Arthur.”

“I know, Hosea.”

Arthur’s smile became decidedly more relaxed and natural. 

“Is everybody ready?”

A collective “yes” boomed from the Van der Linde’s, followed up by a short bark of approval from Cain.

A small pop and a flash, and the day was done.

————————

“A toast, to new friends!” Hosea declared, thrusting his bottle into the fresh night air. Another rowdy cheer punctuated the otherwise quiet evening, startling a few nearby gulls.

Albert was wedged cosily on a log between Arthur and Bill in front of the dwindling camp fire. Dutch and Hosea were opposite, deep in conversation. Karen was on the ground with Javier, humming along to his cheery tune. Tilly and Mary-Beth were sat arm-in-arm, their disagreement already forgotten, as Arthur had predicted. Even Micah was sharing a bottle of whiskey with Lenny. It was quite the spectacle. And to be part of it... the thought had Albert’s head spinning. And not just from Hosea’s enthusiasm to share the camp’s liquor.

There was just one thing bothering him.

Arthur was quiet.

He had been from the moment Albert had suggested the group photograph.

The cowboy was staring silently into the flames, bottle in hand, seemingly lost deep in thought. Albert took a chance and bumped knees with him, waking him from whatever reverie he was chasing.

“Hm? What?” Arthur mumbled. His green eyes met Albert’s, heavy-lidded under his hat.

“Oh, I‘m sorry, Arthur. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Albert said softly.

“I - I’m fine, Mr Mason,” Arthur replied shortly, moving a little away from him. Albert was a little surprised at just how much that stung.

“Don’t mind him, Mason,” Micah piped up. “Cowpoke here never could hold his drink.”

“Shaddup, Micah,” Arthur growled.

Albert didn’t know why; he hadn’t spoken to him at any great length; but he did not like Micah. Not one little bit. There was something dark and mean lurking in the cowboy’s eyes.

“Ah, settle down you two,” Hosea interrupted. He rubbed a hand over his wizened features. “It’s getting late, in any case. I’ll probably turn in before my old bones get too attached to this chair.”

Hosea turned to Albert. The older man watched him with thoughtful grey eyes. Albert tried hard not to fidget. He had liked Hosea immediately and instinctively, but his seniority among the group was clear. His approval would be paramount.

“And before you ask, Albert, you’re more than welcome to make camp with us tonight. Arthur, I reckon you’ve probably got the most room to spare. Or Micah...”

Albert caught a sliver of the stony glare Micah shot Hosea.

He shuddered.

“I’d - I’d be very glad to stay, Mr Matthews. Thank you.” Albert stammered, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He didn’t want to state his preference and risk invoking the wrath of Micah.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to.

“C’mon then, Mason.” Arthur grumbled, finding his words. He lurched to his feet, leaning on Bill for balance. “Let’s go to bed.”

Perhaps not the right words.

The camp burst into raucous laughter.Bill wolf-whistled. Javier played a brief romantic riff.

“Aw, ain’t that sweet,” Micah sneered. “Arthur’s got himself a new wife.”

The world stopped turning on its axis. The group of revellers fell into a deadly silence.

Albert had never seen Arthur move faster than in that moment. He leapt across the fire and closed a tight fist around Micah’s scrawny throat.

“I said, shut the damn hell up, Micah!” Arthur spat.

“Arthur, let go of him this minute!” Dutch intervened, pulling the two cowboys apart. “Now, boys, that is no way to behave in front of our guest.”Micah backed off into the shadows, clutching at his throat and coughing.

“I’m truly sorry you had to see that, Mr Mason. Now, everyone just settle down. It’s been a trying few weeks and we’ve all had a lot to drink. It’s time for bed. C’mon. All of you. Party’s over. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

Various groans filled the air, but within seconds, most of the camp were on their feet and shuffling their separate ways. Dutch was personally escorting a swearing Micah Bell to his quarters.

Albert approached Arthur timidly, like he would a wild cougar. He reached out and placed a tentative hand on the small of his friend’s back.

“Arthur?” 

Arthur stiffened momentarily and then relaxed, tangibly, at Albert’s touch and voice. The tension drained from his face, his brow smoothing. His chin met his chest with an expression of dejection and shame.

“Albert... ‘m sorry. I -“

“Shh, come on now, Arthur, it’s alright.” Albert rubbed soothing circles into Arthur’s skin. In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that this was the first time Arthur had ever used his Christian name.

Had he imagined it?

“You - you don’t have to stay with me, Mr Mason.”

“Arthur -“

For one of the first times in his life, Arthur found that he was completely at a loss for what to say.

So he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he took a deep breath and let it out into the clean night air. Saying a silent prayer to whatever gods were listening, Albert Mason took Arthur Morgan by the hand and led him back to his tent.

————————

Arthur was being remarkably compliant.

He followed Albert wordlessly through the camp, fighting with some demon deep in his chest.

He let Albert open the tent’s door and manhandle him inside.

He didn’t deserve this.

Any of it.

Albert was looking at him again, shadows of concern cast on his face by the swinging lantern. He must’ve missed something.

“Huh?” Arthur managed to say.

“I said, do you, um, need help with your things?”

Arthur’s vision swam a little. Partly with the alcohol and partly with the enormity of the situation he now found himself in. He shook his head resolutely.

“No.” He caught a glimpse of the rejection on Albert’s face and realised he was being curt. “No, thank you, Mr Mason. I’m alright.”

Arthur settled himself on the bear skin rug and started shyly discarding his unnecessary clothing, keeping his eyes resolutely on the floor. 

Albert bit his lip.

Apparently, they weren’t going to talk about this.

Maybe it was for the best.

Albert settled on the small camp bed and tugged off his muddy boots, taking care not to get any on Arthur’s spartan furnishings. A few photographs caught his eye and Albert resisted the urge to make small talk based on them. Hopefully, there would be time in the morning and his curiosity would just have to wait until then. He stole a quick glance at Arthur and found himself chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur asked, pulling a face. He was stripped down to a pale blue union suit, which Albert had to admit was a little sweet.

“It’s just - I’ve never seen you without a hat on, Arthur.”

Arthur pulled a face and ruffled his own short, sandy hair.

“What did ya think was under it?”

“You know, I didn’t think about it,” Albert lied. At least it earned him a small smile from the cowboy.

“You know, that’s actually one of my shirts...” Arthur began.

“Oh, goodness! Arthur, I do apologise. Miss Grimshaw gave me it and I - well - she...”

“She ain’t a lady it’s easy to say no to.”

“Yes, precisely!”

“She made me have a bath once. Made me. In the lake.”

The two men laughed quietly.

“I don’t mind you wearin’ it, Mason. It actually kinda suits you. Sorta makes you look like one of us.”

Albert had no reply to that. He let the thought warm his whole body from his head to his toes.

“Outhouse is just to the left of the horses, if you need to -“

“Oh, um, thank you. I’ll - thank you.”

“Well, alright then,” Arthur stated, as if that summed everything up. “You’ll be alright there on the bed, Mr Mason?”

“Arthur, no. Please. I can take the rug -“

“I ain’t debating this tonight. I’m fine down here and plenty more used to sleeping on the ground than you, I’d wager.”

Albert had to concede that point. He knew well enough by now that when Arthur had made his mind up, that was usually that.

“Well, I can’t argue with you there, Arthur.”

“Finally,” Arthur quipped. “Goodnight, Mr Mason.” He blew the candle out and darkness enveloped the tent like a soft blanket. Albert closed his eyes and tried his best to keep quiet.

Well, he tried.

“Arthur?”

“Mmm?”

“Thank you.”

“S’alright.”

Crickets chirped playfully outside.

“I - I hope you sleep well.”

“Mmm.”

“Arthur?”

“Mmm?”

“Could you - can you call me Albert?”

Albert couldn’t make the cowboy out in the gloom, but he could feel his green eyes on him. Searching for meaning.

“Why?”

“Because... well. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Sure. ‘Course we are.” The reply came reassuringly fast.

“Okay. Good. It... would mean the wo - it would mean a lot to me. That’s all.”

“Alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Goodnight... Albert.”

Albert’s heart squeezed in his chest. He snuggled down into Arthur’s blue shirt, breathing in deeply. 

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

————————

Arthur did not sleep well.

He’d laid awake and listened to Albert toss, turn and finally settle into a peaceful rhythm of breathing. The man was making a soft little whistle on each exhale, which Arthur tried to tell himself wasn’t even slightly endearing.

Which was part of the problem.

Since the day he’d met Albert Mason; adjusting his camera lens in the forest clearing; Arthur had been drawn to him. There was something... different about him.

Arthur gave up on sleep and instead recounted each of their encounters in his mind, smiling to himself in the safety of the shadows. He chuckled silently at his ability to escape calamity by the grace of some higher power. Arthur’s fondness only grew with Albert’s folly. And then - the man had come to his senses and gotten on a train back to New York. It was probably for the best. Arthur had been sure he would likely never see the strange fellow again; he’d resigned himself to that fact. And then...

Albert murmured something incomprehensible in his sleep.

Life was funny sometimes.

Something else had been nibbling like a rat at the corners of Arthur’s mind. It was still there now, lying in wait for him in the dark.

You don’t deserve him.

The thought opened up a chasm in his stomach and threatened to swallow him alive.

He was a bad person.

He’d done terrible, terrible things in his life.

A wicked person like him should not be feeling... what he was feeling for Albert.

It was wrong.

He could admit it to himself in the dark.

Albert... deserved much better.

Someone as good and kind as the man was himself.

Arthur blinked, finding his cheeks wet for some reason.

Wiping his eyes, Arthur lifted himself to his feet silently. He crept blindly to his trunk, retrieved his duster coat and pulled his boots on. Casting one last look at Albert’s sleeping form, he stole into the night.

————————

Arthur cast his line a little further this time. Maybe between that and the new lure, he might actually have a chance of catching something.

But with his luck recently, he wasn’t holding his breath.

Moonlight dappled the surface of the lake.

Minutes passed in slow silence. Resigning himself to be patient, Arthur balanced his rod in one hand, delving into his pocket with the other for a cigarette. He managed to get the thing between his teeth while keeping the line nice and still. Now, the hunt for a match began.

Behind him, a branch snapped neatly in two under footfall.

”Arthur?” a voice whispered on the wind. Arthur turned and saw a sleepy-looking Albert padding towards him clumsily. “Where did you go?”

“Mmppfffg -“ Arthur articulated.

Albert gave him a tired smile. Arthur deftly let the cigarette drop back into his pocket.

“I thought you was asleep,” Arthur repeated.

“Oh, I was. But I woke up to - ahem. And I couldn’t find you anywhere.” There was a tiny waver of concern in Albert’s voice.

“I‘ll admit I was a little worried. I thought maybe Micah had -“

“Aw, Micah’s harmless. Don’t go waste your time frettin’ about him.”

“I wasn’t worried about Micah.”

Arthur coughed, pushing the feelings back down into his heart where they belonged. It was like trying to put whiskey back into a bottle. Everything was spilling and overflowing.

“Why - thank you, Albert. I - I’m fine.”

“Arthur, if there’s ever anything you want to talk about, anything at all, you know that I’ll gladly listen. Don’t you?”

The words got stuck in Arthur’s throat, choking him. He twitched his rod, trying to keep up the appearance of a stoic cowboy fishing.

“I don’t deserve your kindness, Albert,” Arthur replied shortly.

Albert shook his head.

“That’s just not true, Arthur. It’s just not true.”

“What do you really know about me, Mason?” Arthur said bitterly. “You have no idea what type of man I am. Do you know what I was doing before I ran into you on the hill outside Strawberry?”

Albert blinked.

“No, I don’t, Arthur. And you don’t have to tell me, either. All I know is that you saved my skin, multiple times, and when I got back to New York I - I realised that I’d never see you again and that - that was all I really wanted to do.”

The words were out before he could stop them. They hung in the air like cobwebs, blowing to and fro in the wind.

“Have you heard of the Van der Linde gang, Mr Mason?” Arthur murmured.

Albert considered the name for a moment, his brow furrowing quizzically.

“I think I’ve seen them mentioned, in the newspaper and some posters...” Realisation dawned like a spark igniting on Albert’s face. “Oh - oh!.”

“I was breaking Micah out of jail,” Arthur continued, his voice melancholy. “Just before I met you. We had to massacre half the town to do it...”

An ungainly silence stretched between them.

Albert had read that particular article in the paper. The number of victims wasn’t an exaggeration for dramatic effect.

“Did you want to?” Albert whispered.

“Did I want to?”

“Did you want to... kill those people?”

“No. God. No, no...”

A wave crashed on the shore.

“I didn’t have a choice. I - I never wanted to hurt nobody.”

Arthur‘s fishing rod dropped into the dirt and he let his heavy head drop into his hands.

“I think about them people every night.”

A pair of arms in a familiar blue shirt wrapped around Arthur from behind. Warmth spread over his back from the contact. Albert’s beard tickled the base of Arthur’s neck. It was unsurprisingly soft and smelled of citrus.

“It’s alright, Arthur.”

“No, it’s not alright. It’ll never be alright, Mason. Albert. Albert, I -“ Arthur was coming undone. The thread was pulled and everything was falling apart.

“You made a mistake,” Albert stated. “You regret that. Everyone makes mistakes. What’s done is done. Now, come here and don’t be a blasted, stubborn mule for once in your life.”

Albert managed to gently turn the taller man around to face him. He opened his arms wide, welcoming Arthur in.

Arthur didn’t remember moving, but the next moment he was hugging Albert more fiercely than he had anyone in his whole life. He held on for dear life, death and redemption. The dam burst in his heart and he sobbed unashamedly.

Albert held him securely, keeping him safe, as Arthur had him. Eventually, as they always must, the tears stopped.

The two men stayed clasped in their embrace for a few more precious seconds, neither pulling away.

“Arthur?”

“Albert?”

“You’re the best man I know.”

“You’re... Jesus - Albert -”

“Now... will you come back to bed with me?”

Arthur shuffled his feet in the mud.

“You - you should go home, Mr Mason. ”

Albert took Arthur’s face in his hands. His unkempt beard scratched Albert’s hands as he wiped away the last of the cowboy’s tears.

The universe held its breath.

Albert Mason stood on tip-toe and pressed a tender kiss to Arthur Morgan’s forehead, surprising them both. They looked deep into each other’s eyes reflecting the moonlight for a long moment.

“I am home. Home is where you are, Mr Morgan.”

————————

Micah Bell straightened from his concealed cover in the bushes as he watched the two men walked back towards Arthur’s tent. He took a swig from his bottle of beer, rinsed his mouth out and spat.

“Fuckin’ degenerate sons-of-bitches,” he growled.

A hiss from the undergrowth grabbed his attention. A rattlesnake coiled and arched its sinuous body, baring its fangs at the cowboy.

Micah smiled, baring his own rotting teeth. He slowly pulled his long, serrated knife from his belt.

The snake wisely changed tactics and made a tactical retreat, slithering off invisibly into the pitch darkness.

Micah laughed wickedly.

He’d still got it.

————————

Arthur woke early, with the birds.

Their morning song flitted in and out of his dreams on a light breeze.

Golden light spilled through a crack in the tent door, warming his skin.

The air outside still smelled of rain, but the sky was clear. Not a cloud in the sky.

The night was over.

It was a perfect morning in Clemens Point.

Arthur started to stretch his lethargic muscles and gently nudged against something solid and warm tucked up against his chest.

“Hmm,” sighed the something, snuggling closer. Arthur’s arms tightened almost reflexively. He breathed in the smell of citrus and hummed contentedly.

Arthur blinked his bleary eyes open and froze.

Albert Mason was lying in his arms.

Well.

This was unexpected.

And unexpectedly comfortable.

Arthur didn’t know when their sleeping arrangements had changed during the night, but he had a distant memory of losing some sort of argument about a rug. 

Arthur’s nose itched.

He tried to move his right arm and found it pinned under Albert’s side. He tried his left and found his calloused fingers were already busy being intertwined with Albert’s softer ones.

The itch intensified.

Arthur stealthily tried to extricate a limb enough to relieve it.

“Ugh, Arthur, don’t squirm. I’d just gotten cosy again,” Albert groaned. Arthur chuckled and took the opportunity to scratch his nose in ecstasy. He cleared his throat.

“Mornin’, Albert.”

“Good morning, Arthur.”

Albert rolled over sleepily, managing somehow to not knock the other man out of the single bed. He cuddled like a kitten into Arthur’s chest.

Arthur had no idea what he was supposed to do.

“How’d you sleep?” Arthur rumbled.

“Actually,” Albert mumbled, his face mushed into Arthur’s body. “I haven’t slept so well in years.” Arthur nodded in agreement. His whole body felt lighter somehow, even with his bearded photographer weighing him down.

“This okay?”

“I - yeah.”

“I’m not crushing you to death, am I?”

“Er - no.”

“Is this weird? This feels weird. Is it supposed to feel weird?”

“I - yeah, it’s a little strange. But... I kind of like it, Albert.”

“Me too.” Albert snuggled in a little. “I have to admit, Arthur; this is uncharted territory for me.”

“Which part?”

“Err - all of it. All of this.”

A serene silence settled over them.

Arthur’s arms wrapped around Albert’s shoulders, pulling him in closer.

“That makes two of us then... C’mere, Mason.”

“I’m here.”

They held each other closely as the world came to life.

“You know, Arthur, I did not imagine for a minute that you’d be a quite such an adept cuddler.”

“You comfy?”

“Very.” Albert’s beard tickled Arthur’s chest through the cotton of his union suit. And he didn’t mind one bit.

“That’s what matters to me.”

“You really are full of surprises, Mr Morgan. For example, did you know that you talk in your sleep?”

“Aw, heck. Well,” Arthur blushed fiercely, feeling foolish. “You do all the talking when you’re awake. I figure nighttime, it’s about my turn.”

“Oh, haha, very good! It’s quite sweet, really.”

“If you say so... Albert?”

“Yes, Arthur?”

Arthur shifted his weight a little as he thought deeply. His hands found themselves carding through Albert’s hair absent-mindedly.

“About what I said last night...”

“Which part?”

“About the gang... my family. We’re wanted men and women. All of us are thieves, liars and killers in the eyes of the law. The sheriffs ‘round these parts would swallow their badges whole and ask for seconds to get their hands on us. Albert - I need to know - can I trust you to keep us safe?”

Albert sat up and looked Arthur right in his eyes. He was watching him with sad, tired eyes.

“Look, Arthur... My mother raised me to judge folks by their own merit. From the day we met, you’ve never once stolen from me, lied to me or harmed me. In fact, you helped me; a total stranger; and put your life on the line for mine.

Your family have treated me with nothing but respect and dignity from the moment I stumbled upon your camp. I can honestly say I would rather die than betray your trust, or theirs.”

“Okay, well... that’s... mighty decent of you.”

“And one more thing. You, Arthur Morgan, are not comprised solely of the bad things you‘ve done. No-one is. Can you think about that, for me?”

“I - I will try to, Albert.”

Albert lay back down in his new favourite spot. Arthur’s heartbeat thudded reassuringly in his ear.

“I can’t remember the last time I was this comfy.”

Arthur rubbed gentle circles into Albert’s back.

“Me either, Albert.”

“So. Are you going to make me breakfast?”

Arthur chucked low and deep in his chest. He pressed a kiss into Albert’s forehead, aiming for about the same spot that Albert had the night before.

“Actually, I have a better idea...”

“Can it maybe wait, ten or fifteen more minutes?”

“It sure can, Albert. It sure can.”

————————

“Do you have to go, Uncle Albie?” Jack wheedled, clinging onto Albert’s hand with both of his.

“It’s only a short trip, Jack,” Albert reassured him. “Don’t worry, my little fellow. We’ll be back this afternoon.”

Arthur grunted as he laid the last of Albert’s luggage in the small canoe.

“What’s in them bags of yours, Mason? Bricks?”

Albert rolled his eyes.

“I told you, Arthur. It’s all essential equipment.” Albert turned back to Jack. “You see, Jack, it’s a special lens for a fast-moving subject. I can’t very well ask the iguanas to sit still and say cheese for a photograph, can I?”

Jack giggled. “No, I guess not, but that would be funny. They can run real fast, Uncle Albie!”

“That’s right, Jack, they sure can!” The youth suddenly hugged onto Albert’s leg. His grip held surprising strength for his size.

“You’re coming back though, right?”

Albert’s heart broke a little.

Okay, a lot.

“Of course, Jack. How else will I show you the photographs we take?”

“That’s okay then. Bye, Uncle Albie. Bye, Uncle Arthur!” Jack called, his attention already gone as he chased two butterflies into the trees.

“He’s taken a real shine to you, Albie,” Arthur said, smirking. He placed a hand casually on the photographer’s shoulder as they watched the boy skip away.

“I haven’t the slightest idea why,” Albert replied, shaking his head.

“Me either,” Arthur joked, winking. Albert thought better of his curt reply when he caught the tender look in Arthur’s eye.

“All geared up for a trip, boys?” Micah asked, appearing from the other side of a tree trunk. Arthur stiffened and broke the physical contact between him and Albert.

“Micah. I - I wanted to apologise about -“

“What? Trying to throttle me last night?” Micah laughed cruelly. “Oh, don’t mention it, cowpoke. These things happen, don’t they?”

Micah was smiling, but Albert doubted its intentions. Genuine or not, it wasn’t a pretty sight to behold.

“Well, that’s mighty big of you, Micah. Thank you.” Arthur tipped his hat in deference.

“No, thank you. You boys make sure and have a nice little trip to yourselves now, ya hear?” Micah sneered. And as quickly as he’d arrived, he had turned on his spurred heels and vanished.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“If looks could kill a man, right?”

“Indeed, Mr Mason, indeed.”

————————

It didn’t take them long to reach the island.

The journey passed in amiable silence and conversation, interspersed with the splashing of the oars across the lake.

Arthur had even hummed a little tune as he rowed.

It was quiet and peaceful.

And Albert had questions.

“Where are you from, Arthur?”

“Some small town in Ohio, I think, but we was always on the road.”

“Your mother and father, what were they like?”

“My daddy, he was a no-good piece of work. My momma passed when I was young, and then it was just me an’ him. He - he didn’t like me so much.”

“When did you meet Dutch and Hosea?”

“I was fifteen and following in my daddy’s footsteps... I guess you could say they saved my life. I didn’t have nothing or nobody. They gave me that and somethin’ to live for.”

“Do you have any other family?”

“Naw. I - I used to have a son.” Arthur’s tone changed dramatically, becoming void and lifeless. “A long time ago. He - him and his momma - they got killed. I don’t know how and I don’t know why. I went to their house one day and they - I think they was robbed.”

“Oh, God, Arthur. I’m such an insensitive moron. I - I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. We don’t have to talk about any of this. I’ve been so foolish and - I’m truly so sorry.”

Arthur cleared his throat.

“That’s alright, Mr Mason. I never forgot about them. To be honest, it’s kinda a relief to talk to somebody about it. And I’m glad that that somebody’s you.”

Albert didn’t know what to say or do. He did the one thing he thought might be able to make Arthur a tiny bit happier. He threw his arms around him and gave him the tightest hug he could manage.

“I just wanted to know my Arthur a little better,” Albert whispered.

”I ain’t never gonna lie to you,” Arthur continued. “Ask and I’ll tell you honest. Even if the truth is sad or ugly. But if it’s okay with you, Albert, I’d like to talk about something else now.”

“Of course, Arthur.”

“That one of them iguanas?” Arthur said, pointing at the approaching shoreline.

“Why, yes, Arthur! That’s the very same! A very fine male specimen, too!”

Albert withdrew a small handheld camera and leaning over the side of the boat, started taking a few photographs.

“We ain’t even there yet, Albert,” Arthur chuckled. “Careful not to capsize the boat, now.”

“Eep - sorry!” Albert yelped, sitting down quickly and rocking the boat further.

“You want to row us into shore?”

“I - I’d like to try.”

“C’mere then, Mason. Nice and slow. You stand there - yep - and I’ll - that’s it. Now. Albert. You ever rowed a boat before?”

“No,” Albert admitted.

“Well, you’ve got two oars in your hands, that’s a start.” Arthur plonked himself down directly behind Albert, wrapping his body around him.

“This is nice.”

“Eh? Uh, yeah, it is actually. Focus, though, or we’ll end up nice and wet.”

Arthur rested his hands on top of Albert’s on the oars, teaching him the technique. After a few false starts, they were making progress once more.

Relaxing his tutelage, Arthur had an idea. With Albert’s hands occupied, he swapped their hats.

“Arthur, what are you -“

“What a fasc-inatin’ speci-men,” Arthur clowned, leaning back in the boat and fiddling with Albert’s bag of equipment.

“Oh, really... Mr Morgan?” Albert puffed. “I’ll have... you know... imitation is the sincerest... form of flattery.”

“Hehe, I was only kidding, Albert,” Arthur replied, coming to cuddle up behind him again. “You do it better.”

Arthur couldn’t resist. Before he could think better of it, he pressed a bearded kiss to the pale skin on the back of Albert’s neck.

Albert nearly dropped the oars.

“Umm. Thank you... We’re almost... at the shore... what do I do now?”

“Keep on rowing, Albert. You get us partway on the beach and I’ll jump out to haul us and your bag of bricks in.”

————————

They walked through the small copse of trees.

Albert wandered a little ahead, following the stoic procession of a family of snapping turtles.

Arthur was content to bring up the rear, watching Albert and his simple joy at being in nature.

“That seems like a good spot to set up, Arthur,” Albert suggested. “The ground is even and I’d have a good vantage spot of the clearing.”

Arthur grunted his assent.

While Albert assembled his various pieces of kit, Arthur found a comfortable spot against a mossy rock and propped his hat low over his eyes. He let Albert’s excited ramblings become a lullaby to soothe him to sleep.

“- never imagined there’d be such a unique ecosystem so close to -“

Albert stopped when he saw Arthur lying still and snoring softly.

Watching Arthur sleep was like watching a mountain bear cry - you’d never imagine that something so dangerous would look cute and cuddly, but there you have it.

Albert bit his lip.

“Oh, Arthur.”

The cowboy must be exhausted.

Albert took his chance and snapped a quick photograph. Just for him.

Then he gathered his tripod camera and headed off to explore.

Light dappled through the tree canopy.

Moss crawled up the side of mighty oaks

Albert felt a sense of peace pulse through his heart with every step through the forest.

He’d traded New York for this feeling, and he didn’t regret his decision for a moment.

He photographed the same family of turtles that’d led them here, as they milled about through the undergrowth. Their beaks snapped satisfyingly as they grazed on the island’s abundant wild shrubbery.

They were actually perfect subjects for photography. Their slow reactions meant that he could often capture them before they blinked their scaly eyes.

He wished the little family well on their journey and pressed on to the centre of the island.

As he walked, Albert thanked his lucky stars he’d found Arthur again.

In the corner of his vision, a bush shook with movement. Albert turned and managed to catch a glimpse of a sweeping black and white tail disappearing towards the far shore.

Aha!

Albert hoisted his camera over his shoulder and took off in pursuit.

He found the iguanas sunning themselves on a rock on the beach. There were two large, presumably male, creatures presiding over the sunbathers. They did little more than flick their tongues at Albert as he slowly approached.

“Hello, my dear fellows,” Albert whispered, preparing his camera. “My goodness, you’re larger than I ever imagined. I agree, it’s the perfect day for napping. Why, my cowboy is doing exactly the same right this second.”

He lined up the viewfinder on the rock. In the background of the shot, out of focus but recognisable, he could just make out Blackwater far on the horizon. It was a brilliant picture, the perfect juxtaposition of civilisation and nature. If only he could manage to capture it.

The iguanas flicked their tongues again, tasting citrus on the air.

In his limited experience as a wildlife photographer, Albert sensed their growing fear. He took his chance.

The flash exploded and the iguanas fled, running with impressive speed right past Albert. The largest was easily a metre long with a powerful, whipping tail.

In the blink of an eye, the serpentine creatures were gone.

Albert let out a huge breath that he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

Such impressive creatures.

Were they venomous?

Albert felt the back of his neck prickle.

They had ran right back towards where Arthur was sleeping peacefully.

He had either read in his encyclopaedia that they were definitely venomous, or that they definitely weren’t.

Oh dear.

Albert broke into a run.

————————

Micah Bell didn’t get even.

He got better than even.

He approached Dutch’s tent with an affected nonchalance he knew the old man would fall for.

Hook, line and sinker.

“Morning, Dutch,” Micah called as he walked past, acting like he was heading for the pontoon.

“Oh, uh, morning,” Dutch replied, not bothering to look up from his book. It was only Micah, after all.

“Not like you to be up this early, Mr Bell.”

Micah hesitated. Then continued in a voice like black treacle.

“Yeah, well, I know we got a good score lined up for today. Just wanna be sure I’m ready to go when you say go, boss.”

Dutch narrowed his eyes.

“What do you want, Micah?”

“Why, nothing, Dutch. When have I ever asked you for anything?” Micah replied, holding his hands up in what he assumed was a peaceful gesture.

“Well... alright then. Good work. Now, you haven’t happened to run into Arthur this morning, have you?”

“Why, Dutch,” Micah sneered. “I can’t be sure, but I think I saw him heading off across the lake in our boat with that city feller early this morning...”

Dutch’s suspicious expression changed into one of genuine surprise.

“Oh, really? That’s a little unusual... I was hoping I could rely on him to take the lead on this job.”

Micah’s eyes gleamed.

“Well now, Dutch, if you think that’s unusual, you’re not gonna believe what I saw last night -“

————————

Arthur stumbled through the woods, nearly tripping over his own legs in his haste. His heart pounded loud and desperate in his chest.

Where on earth did he leave him?

“Arthur! Arthur!”

Albert burst into the clearing and almost fell face first into a campfire.

“Wow, wow,” Arthur said. He put down his journal carefully and calmly drew his revolver from its holster. “What’s on earth’s the matter, Albert?”

“There - were these two huge - iguanas - and I couldn’t remember - if they were venomous or -“ Albert wheezed.

“Iguanas? Nah, Mr Mason, they’re perfectly alright.”

Albert nearly collapsed with relief. He sat down in the moss next to his cowboy, perspiring delicately. Arthur made room for him to collapse back against the boulder beside him.

“Okay, good. I’ll... I’m just so glad... you’re alright. I’m just going to... catch my breath for a moment,” Albert wheezed.

“Did you get the photograph you wanted?”

Albert’s mood brightened immediately.

“Yes, Arthur... it was perfect! They were on this rock...”

Arthur smiled and listened contentedly to his photographer, taking the opportunity to complete a few finishing touches on his sketch.

“... I just hope the print will do them justice... What’s that you’re writing there, Arthur?” Albert nodded towards Arthur’s journal.

“I - err - I wasn’t writing.”

“Oh? What were you doing then?”

“I was - sometimes I do these silly little drawings - I dunno -“

“Oh! Can I see?”

“I’m not sure. They ain’t no good, Mr Mason. I ain’t been to no school or nothin’.”

“Don’t be shy, Arthur. I’d love to see.”

“Really?”

“Really. What were you drawing?”

Arthur blushed. He opened the battered volume to the most recent page.

“Em. The turtles.”

“Ah, our trail guides from before... Arthur, these... these are really something!”

“Somethin’ awful, maybe!”

“Hush now! Look at their little scales! Your shading work is fantastic.”

“Aw, heck. You’re making me blush, Albert.”

“Have you got any others?”

“Sure. You... you wanna see?”

Arthur flicked through the pages slowly, showing Albert his sketches.

Rhodes. In all its Southern charm.

A sheriff’s badge. Six steely points.

The old church. A rusty bell hanging ominously.

Wolves. Running wild.

A portrait of a man in a meadow standing with his back turned, fiddling with a machine on three legs -

Arthur snapped the book shut and withdrew it hurriedly.

“Wait, what was that one?”

“I - em. I - I forgot that one was in there.”

“Arthur, I - was that me?“

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Mr Mason. I just... I didn’t wanna forget meeting you.”

“I - Arthur. I don’t know what to say.” His heart was in his throat. “There were some words there too. What did you write?”.

“I dunno, somethin’ like, met this nosy photographer today,” Arthur lied feebly.

“No, no, I don’t think that was it... please, Arthur?” Albert pleaded.

“Well, alright, but I dunno if you’ll even be able to read my writing.”

Albert found the page again, his heart doing somersaults now.

Met a man with the kindest eyes today. Not sure what my momma would say.

“Arthur, I -“

“Sorry, Mason, I shouldn’t have -“

“Arthur Morgan, I have never felt so touched in my entire life as I do in this moment. Thank you. I had no idea that I’d made such an impression on you.”

“Neither had I,” Arthur chuckled. “But then...”

A strange feeling was bubbling up from within him like water from a well.

“I - you - we - aw, shit.”

He’d never been good with words.

“I - care very deeply about you, Albert.”

“I know,” Albert replied, his eyes gleaming with tears. “I -“

He stopped dead.

“Wait a moment. Arthur. Over there! Is that smoke? Coming from camp?”

————————

When they got back to Clemens point, the air was full of ashes.

Arthur’s home was burning.

Arthur rowed the boat hard onto the deserted beach and leapt to the shore, stopping only to help Albert down to join him.

They headed for the line of burning trees, mouths agape at the destruction before them.

Heat cracked through thick branches like a whip, turning them to cinders.

A gust of wind blew a torrent of embers into their eyes.

“Arthur!”

“Stay here, Mason!”

“Not - not on your life!”

“Albert!”

“No! If you’re going in there, I’m going with you!”

Arthur growled and took the man’s hand.

“Don’t let go, Albert.”

“I won’t!”

Albert wiped some ash from his glasses, covered his face with Arthur’s shirt, and followed him into hell.

They stumbled through the remains of the camp like wraiths.

Tripping and stumbling blindly through the silent inferno.

A voice, getting louder through the grey, chanting hatefully around them like the voice of Satan himself.

“- Arthur, the golden child, the chosen one, our hero, Arthur -“

They followed the voice, necks prickling and hands becoming slick with sweat.

Albert tightened his grip on Arthur’s hand.

“- never could do any wrong, could he? Well, not this time. THIS TIME -“

As they neared Arthur’s tent, the voice became more distinct.

“Micah?” Albert and Arthur said together, choking on the fumes.

They stepped forward, into the eye of the swirling soot storm, and saw what had become of their home.

Micah Bell stood; gun in one hand, flaming bottle of whiskey in the other; in front of the blackened remains of Arthur’s tent. The rest of the gang were huddled nearby, listening to him roar.

“- he will face JUDGMENT for his ACTIONS -“

Micah stopped as he saw Arthur and Albert appear like ghosts through the smoke. His lip curled in disgust.

“And here is the sinner himself. Did you boys have a nice little day to yourselves?”

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing, Micah?” Arthur shouted. “What the hell have you done?”

Micah started to snigger wildly. “I’ve only done what the good book says we should do with perverts and queers. They will all be judged in holy flame!”

Arthur’s blood ran cold. Albert’s matched his temperature to the degree.

A tall figure stepped forwards, silhouetted in black. .

“Is what he said true, Arthur?” Dutch yelled, struggling to make himself heard over the flames. “Are you and Mr Mason -“

Micah cackled with glee.

“Vile, evil degenerates? Of course they are, Dutch! Are you blind, old man? Do you see what I see before you? The two of them are holding hands, for shit’s sake. We’ve all but caught them in the act!”

Albert went to let go of Arthur’s hand. He had done enough. Damaged and destroyed enough. He should never have come here. He -

Arthur gripped his hand even more fiercely.

“I said, don’t let go, Albert,” he said, in a voice soft enough for only Albert to hear.

“I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

Arthur turned towards his enemy and his family. He took a breath of black air deep into his lungs, and boomed -

“I love Albert. That much is true. You can believe what you want to believe, and think what you want to think. But that’s what the truth is. And I want you all to know that.

You’re my family. I would die for any one of you. But if y’all wanna hurt so much as a hair on my man’s head, you’re gonna have to put a bullet in me first.”

Micah applauded slowly, his gun glinting in the twilight.

“Always so brave, even in death, Arthur Morgan.”

Micah Bell raised his arm and time came to a standstill.

Albert closed his eyes.

This was it.

This was enough.

Your love was enough.

Thank you, Arthur.

A second gun cocked, somewhere far away.

“Now, just a goddamn minute, Micah,” Bill roared. The bear of a man pushed through the ranks of the Van der Linde’s and pressed the muzzle of his shotgun against Micah’s chest. “I wouldn’t move a muscle if I were you.”

Arthur opened his eyes. He didn’t remember closing them.

“Now, I know y’all joke and laugh about my time in the Navy,” Bill began. “But I knew plenty of fellers like Arthur and Mr Mason. They was good people. Brave people. Nobody liked to talk about them, I dunno why. Far as I’m concerned, it ain’t about who or what you love, it’s about what’s in your heart.”

A stunned silence filled the air.

“Jesus, BIll,” Uncle quipped. “What the hell have you been drinking?”

“Oh, shaddup, Uncle!” Billy snapped.

Hosea stepped forward calmly, drawing his cattleman revolver. He cocked and aimed it dead centre on Micah’s head.

“Bill,” he interjected, “is right. That’s my boy there, same old Arthur. And I happen to think that this Albert is a fine young man. I suggest, Micah, that you put your gun down, kindly make like a gentleman... and leave.”

Susan Grimshaw was not far behind him. Her dagger found a new home nestled closely against Micah’s carotid artery.

“You heard the man, Mr Bell,” she said. “Git the fuck out of my camp.”

Micah found himself, in short order, surrounded by a host of guns, knives and even the razor edge of a broken bottle of whiskey, courtesy of Reverend Swanson himself.. Micah’s gun dropped to the ground and he raised his hands in surrender.

“Alright, now, now, I don’t want no trouble,” he stammered. “I was just trying to do the Christian thing and save you folks from the depths of one man’s depravity. I see now it’s too late for you sinners. But it ain’t too late for me.”

With one last withering glare at Arthur, Micah Bell scarpered towards his horse and was gone. The sound of retreating hooves faded slowly into silence like the end of an awful song.

Arthur rubbed his eyes.

Albert coughed.

“Well. That was -“

Whatever Albert was going to say was forgotten forever as Arthur pulled him into a full-body embrace.

“Arthur?”

“Thank you, Albert. You didn’t let go.”

“I never will.”

The tears on their faces were almost certainly because of the blinding ash in the air.

Without warning, the two men found themselves surrounded in a very different sense to Micah. Arms and hands and bodies pressed in close from every angle, clapping them on their shoulders, ruffling their hair, kissing their cheeks.

Slowly, most of the gang decided it was time to disperse and address the minor problem of the major fire in camp. Arthur found himself standing in front of Dutch.

“I told you before, Arthur. I love you. No matter what, son.”

“I - Dutch -” Arthur stammered. The words finally came. “I - I love you too.” And he opened his arms and embraced his stepfather gently.

Albert watched with tears of happiness in his eyes.

A slender finger tapped Albert on the shoulder. He turned and found Hosea Matthews standing before him, regarding him like a wise old owl with those ageless eyes.

“I hope we haven’t offended you with all our sentimentality, Albert.”

“No, Mr Matthews.” Albert dried his eyes on sleeve. “I - all I want... is Arthur to be happy. To have the kind of family he deserves.”

“Well then, Albert. I suggest you stick around then.” Hosea proffered one wizened hand, which Albert shook gladly. “You’re one of us now, son.”

“C’mere, you too,” Dutch ordered, opening his arms to accommodate Hosea and Albert too. “If we’re gonna make it official, he’ll have to start getting used to our Van der Linde hugs from now on.”

“Aw, Dutch, no -“

“C’mere!”

Albert found himself in what can only be described as the strangest and happiest moment of his life, wrapped in an embrace with the outlaw he loved and his two adopted fathers.

————————

It was a new day, but the smell of smoke from the day before lingered like lilies at a funeral.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.”

“About what?”

“The photographs, of your parents.”

Arthur kicked the pile of ash that used to be his camp bed.

“It’s alright, Albert. S’just stuff.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“It’s... okay, you got me. I’m kinda tore up about it.”

“I know.”

Albert took Arthur’s hand and squeezed it gently.

“Arthur, I have something for you, by the way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes - although I think I’ll give you a little bit of space for now, perhaps. Meet me by the lakeshore whenever you... whenever you’re ready.” Albert wrung his hands, walked through the singed doorway and was gone.

Arthur sat down heavily on the scorched ground and let out the breath he’d been holding.

Goddamn Micah, that son-of-a-bitch.

Arthur’s photographs were still in their frames on his small desk, now charred and blackened unrecognisably by the fire. The glass had cracked and melted. The photographs inside were gone, burned to ashes like they’d never existed in the first place.

He should’ve kept them someplace safe.

Arthur thought hard about his mother, what she’d looked like. The smell of her cooking. The lilt of her voice as she called him in for supper. He tried to commit it all to memory in the wreckage of his tent.

Find a lady with the kindest eyes.

He wondered what she’d make of him.

He sighed again.

Arthur closed his eyes, said a silent goodbye to his parents and walked out his tent for the last time.

All around him, his family were cleaning and brushing and recovering from the fire. Picking up the pieces and continuing with their lives. Leaning on each other. Cheating each other at poker. Caching supper for each other. Singing and humming to each other.

Albert saw Arthur approaching and hid the surprise behind his back.

“Hey, Arthur,” he called softly.

“Hey, Albert,” came the gruff reply.

Albert was not quite sure when, if ever, the novelty of that would wear off.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“It’s - for the love of - this is what people do when they - Arthur, please just close your eyes.”

Arthur smirked and complied.

“Alright. For you, Mason.”

“And... open them.”

Arthur opened his eyes to a small photograph containing his whole world. There was Lenny grinning, Hosea winking, John scowling, Tilly laughing, Susan smiling, Jack playing... almost his whole world. There was just one person missing.

“I hope it turned out alright. I asked Sadie yesterday if she wouldn’t mind having it developed for me in Rhodes. She - well, she terrified me, but at least she agreed to do it.”

“Albert - it’s a mighty fine photograph. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, Arthur. You’ve got the whole gang there.”

“Not quite, Albert. Not quite.” Arthur winked at him. “Hey Tilly? Tilly! Can I borrow you for a second please?”

Tilly immediately dropped her basket of clothes and dashed over. Susan Grimshaw rolled her eyes affectionately and took over the chore.

“Hey, Arthur. Hey there, Mr Mason,” Tilly said shyly, curtsying a little to Albert in her yellow dress. “Everythin’ okay?”

“Miss Jackson,” Arthur asked sincerely. “I wonder if you can you do me the biggest honour of my life...”

————————

The flash sizzled and popped.

“Ooh, that’s a nice one, boys!” Tilly whooped. “But are you sure I did it right, Mr Mason?”

“You did a splendid job, Tilly,” Albert called. “But would you please do me the kindness of calling me Albert?”

“Sorry, uh, Albert!” Tilly blushed and hid behind the camera again.

Arthur and Albert were sat together on the edge of the boat. Flat Iron Lake spread behind them creating the perfect backdrop for the photographs.

Albert cleared his throat and fussed with his shirt.

“You know, Arthur, I know it sounds silly but... I’m a little nervous. I haven’t... I’ve never actually had my picture taken before.”

“Really?”

“Truly.”

Arthur chucked and picked up Albert’s hand.

“Aww, that’s very romantic, Arthur. Hold that pose!” Tilly directed.

“All this time spent around cameras and you never took a photograph of yourself?” Arthur whispered, smiling for the photograph.

The flash exploded like a dying star.

“No, I never was tempted,” Albert replied. “And in truth, I am starting to understand the plight of my subjects. How in God’s name do you not blink precisely at the moment when the flash goes off?”

”I was kinda hoping you could tell me that,” Arthur laughed.

“Okay, you two,” Tilly called in her voice like honey. “Why don’t we do a less serious one. Just for fun!”

Arthur looked at Albert.

Albert looked at Arthur.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan.”

“I love you too, Albert Mason.”

They came together and their lips met softly as their hats fell off their heads, the flash crackled and the rest of their lives began.

————————

And they lived and loved happily ever after.

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> There we have it!  
I hope you enjoyed it!  
Our boys are free to roam the country together, taking photos of iguanas and sketching little turtles to their hearts’ content.  
Sue me, Rockstar. I need a happy ending. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
Peace and love.  
Mattie


End file.
